LESSON XCIX. Anecdote of Washington.-ANONYMOUS. IMMEDIATELY after the organization of the present government, Gen. Washington repaired to Fredericksburg, to pay his humble duty to his mother, preparatory for his departure to New York. An affecting scene ensued. The son feelingly remarked the ravages, which a torturing disease had made upon the aged frame of his mother, and thus addressed her. The people, Madam, have been pleased, with the most flattering unanimity, to elect me to the chief magistracy of the United States, but before I can assume the functions of my office, I have come to bid you an affectionate farewell. So soon as the public business, which must necessarily be encountered in arranging a new government, can be disposed of, I shall hasten to Virginia, and' 6 Here the matron interrupted him. You will see me no more. My great age, and the disease, which is fast approaching my vitals, warn me I shall not be long of this world. I trust in God, I am somewhat prepared for a better. But go, George, fulfil the high destinies which Heaven appears to assign to you; go, my son, and may that Heaven, and your mother's blessing be with you always.' The President was deeply affected. His head rested upon the shoulder of his parent, whose aged arm feebly, yet fondly encircled his neck. That brow, on which fame had wreathed the purest laurel virtue ever gave to created man, relaxed from its lofty bearing. That look, which could have awed a Roman senate in its Fabrician day, was bent in filial tenderness upon the time-worn features of this venerable matron. The great man wept. A thousand recollections crowded upon his mind, as memory, retracing scenes long past, carried him back to the maternal mansion, and the days of his youth; and there the centre of attraction was his mother, whose care, instruction and discipline had prepared him to reach the topmost height of laudable ambition; yet how were his glories forgotten while he gazed upon her, from whom, wasted by time and malady, he must soon part to meet no more. The matron's predictions were true. The disease, which had so long preyed upon her frame, completed its triumph, and she expired at the age of eighty-five, confiding in the promises of immortality to the humble believer. LESSON C. To the North Star.-ANONYMOUS. BEAUTIFUL STAR! The brightest jewel on Night's ebon brow, Far in the northern pole Thy clear and steady flame burns without end: But thou, O beacon bright in heaven's blue sea! The mariner, when his bark Is driven across the ocean, bleak and drear, Casts o'er the waste his straining eye, The moon shines when the eve grows dim; But thou dost never pale thy flame, The planets in their orbits disappear, Thou art a beauteous type, bright Star! Upon the troublous seas of life, LESSON CI. Daybreak.-DANA. The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window opened towards the sun-rising; the name of the chamber was Peace; where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang.' Now, brighter than the host, that, all night long, Stood watch, thou com'st to wait the morning's song. Thou bid'st me turn to God, and seek my rest in Him. 'Canst thou grow sad,' thou say 'st, 'as earth grows bright? And sigh, when little birds begin discourse In quick, low voices, e'er the streaming light A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure. And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to endure.". I feel its calm. But there 's a sombrous hue And ended, all alike, grief, mirth, love, hate, and wrong. But wrong, and hate, and love, and grief, and mirth, Nor binds his heart with soft and kindly ties: And 't is because man useth so amiss Her dearest blessings, Nature seemeth sad; Else why should she, in such fresh hour as this, From her fair face?-It is that man is mad! Then chide me not, clear star, that I repine, When Nature grieves; nor deem this heart is bad. Thou look'st towards earth: but yet the heavens are thine; While I to earth am bound:--When will the heavens be mine? If man would but his finer nature learn, Of simpler things; could Nature's features stern But not for this alone, the silent tear And like the stricken deer, with sickly eye, Shall see them pass. Breathe calm-my spirit 's torn; Ye holy thoughts, lift up my soul on high! Ye hopes of things unseen, the far-off world bring nigh. And when I grieve, O, rather let it be That I-whom Nature taught to sit with her Should leave, and go with Care, and passions fierce and wild! How suddenly that straight and glittering shaft Be called my chamber, PEACE, when ends the day; And let me with the dawn, like PILGRIM, sing and pray! LESSON CII. Alpine Flowers.-MRS. SIGOURney. MEEK dwellers mid yon terror-stricken cliffs! Or, breathing on the callous icicles, -Tree nor shrub Dare that drear atmosphere; no polar pine Uprears a veteran front; yet there ye stand, |